Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



POEMS, 



•SS 



JAMES SOMMARSALL, 



<^^ fA 



" -H a Pi^ 



WRITTEN ON 



VARIOUS OCCASIONS, 



i 





savan:;ah : 
for tub author. 
1S53, 



"f'b 



.^1 



CONTENT.S. 

Page 

Absence 5 

Sunhury — To Laura . 5 

My Life 6 

Hope 7 

TJie Farewell 7 

The Charms of Laura ... ... .. = .,.. ^ „ 9 

To Bess 10 

Parting from Mary ] 

To Jenny ...11 

Many Years Ago 12 

Nancy 13 

Beware the Eye ...... ... 13 

To Mary. 14 

Olivia . ..15 

Wedlock in Poverty ...... 16 

Jane — 16 

My Little Smiling Charmero 17 

The Wandering Shrew. ...........''..... . 19 

The Coquettish Beauty. 20 

To a Lady alarmed at a Snake .21 

The Periods of Life . . .22 

To Olivia . . .27 

Scene after a Storm 28 

The Peerless Maid 29 

Lines Written in an Album 30 

On Hearing One Boasting of Friends. .31 

To Jane Looking at a Picture. ..... 31 

Tho' I from thee must now depart .32 

The Exile's Return 33 

Now think upon the Moonlight. 34 

' The Loving Widow 35 

To her who thougnt me sad 36 

The W^eeping Adeline .36 

The Jewess. . 37 

Love too true 

To Mary Price 

My Joyful Days of Pleasure . . . 

Parting «^H£/t -42 

Life and Death ^ ^ rfT^S ; 43 

The Faithless One. .^ .-U^ 44 

The Wretched Relievli?.^:'.^: 49 

Robin Gray .... -^^l^ai- -mI 50 






f!S!9r^ 



SOMMARSALL'S POEMS. 

ABSENCE. 

Dark are the dreams that haunt by soul, 

For honest love is dweUing there; 
And reigns in all the warm control, 

Of deepest sorrow and despair. 
The star of bliss I've left behind, 

We parted then to meet no more. 
Yet her bright image in my mind, 

Recalls each hour of transport o'er. 
Where, once, we pass'd our time so gay, 

Is fresh upon my mem 'ry still. 
Nor time can ever wear away. 

The warm attachment that I feel. 
My love, too pure to lie conceal'd. 

Is bursting forth in anguish now, 
Yet never can be all reveal'd, 

As words must fail to paint my wo. 
When love upon the heart takes hold, 

And we well feel the painful dart. 
Its depth must there remain untold. 

For we can but display a part. 
Within the soul, too deep, it stays, 

Distracting there with pain and doubt, 
And lives a burning wretchedness. 

However calm we seem without. 



SUNBURY— TO I AT RA. 

Come my fair Laura, come with me, 
I'll weave a garland briglit for thee, 
W^here flowegto^gayest kind, you'll see, 
In the to\^^%rfiweet .Sunbury. 




Within the groves we^'ll hear the dove, 
That sings her mate, her song of love ; 
So come my maid, with me to mve, 

Thro' the groves of fair Sunbmy. 
The fields are all of finest green, 
Where flowers of deepest dye is seen ; 
For quite a pleasing, lively scene, 

Is the fields of sweet Snnbury. 
The woods' adorn'd with beauties gay, 
Where brilliant birds together play ; 
So Laura join with me to stray, 

Thro' the woods of sweet Sunbnry. 
A river glides along the town. 
With murmers of a gentle tone ; 
And we will wander, love, alone, 

By the town of sweet Sunbury. 
Then, melting still to me and you, 
We will our am'rous vows renew, 
While with united hands we go, 

All around our sweet Suiihury. 

ISIY LIFE. 

My life is like a stormy sea, 

So constant troubled, never still ; 
My friends are all at war with me. 
So what else can I find but ill? 
My soul^s like a gloomy cloud, 

jappiness can seldom shine ; 
mood, — 

ikby mind. 
I'm like a tree, that s^|||s alone. 

Half wither'd on a barren plain ; 
For quite deserted and undonej^^J|: 
I Jive nn object of disdain. ^^^^ 




sommarsall's poems. 

Vm like a boat on seas afar, 

That's tossM by many a surging wave, 
Without a friendly pilot near, 

So many perils I've to brave ! 



HOPE. 

^Tis hope that buries in the ideas of the mind. 
Bright, sparkling things we seldom ever find : 
A star that sheds a sweet alluring light, 
Deceiving us with dreams of vain dehght. 
She calls her sister, Flatt'ry, for to rule, 
And builds an empty fortune in the soul. 
She always points to joys that play before, 
With Flatt'ry, then, to make her prey secure : 
She fans the soul to warm transporting fires, 
And tells us we'll enjoy our sweet desires: 
'Tis with these stratagems, she makes us waste, 
Our thoughts on distant bliss, we seldom taste ; 
And when she draws her visions from the heart, 
She leaves a room for disappointments stinging dart. 



THE FAREWELL. 

To all my youthful scenes adieu, 

I am a wretch that's born for wo; 

And as for friends, there's seldom one, 

For him, deserted and undone^ 

So I shall quit my native^ 

A disregarded, vagrant 

Tho' I am sad, I ne'ei 

Of mj deep melancholy pain ; 



SOMMARSALL S POEMS. 

For when there's none to care for me, 
Why should I tell them how I be ? 
So far away from this sweet land, 
I'll go, a disregarded man- 
The youthful friends, I long have known. 
Now seek my company to shun ; 
Then wherefore sliould I wish to stay. 
To live a faithless scorner's prey I 
So I'll forsake my native land, 
A disregarded, rambling man. 
They call me to my face a fool, 
As if I had no heart or soul. 
To understand the base design, 
Of friends I call no longer mine. 
So, soon I'll quit my native land, 
A disregarded, vagrant man. 
If on the page of moral fame. 
You read at last my trifling name. 
Then all my enemies must own, 
That 'tis this idle, hated one. 
Who quits ill scorn his native land, 
A disregarded, vagrant man, 
'Tis hard, I know, for me ta part. 
From scenes which cheer'd my youthful heart j 
But better 'tis for me to go. 
Than be the sport of fools I know, 
So^I shall quit my native land, 
A poor, deserted, vagrant man. 
There's many wretches, now unblest, 
^y mad advcM^ty opprest ; 
6utiifl||l4H||l^ have felt : 
My soulTn agoi^^^Htofielt, 
To quit my home andTPlive land, ^ 

A poor, despis'd and vagra^ mi 



{ 




sommarsall's poems. 9 

My life I value as a cnrse, 

So deeply wretched is its course 1 

E'en when among my kin I be, 

Some senseless sneer is aim'd at me ; 

So I will quit my native land, 

A disregarded, vagrant man. 

This consolation I've alone, 

I've none to weep for when I'm gone ; 

For why should he, who lives a scorn. 

Attempt for trifling fools to mourn, 

Who forced him from his native land, 

A disregarded, vagrant man, 

THE CHARMS OF LAURA. 

The night in beauty smiles around. 

With stars that shine about the sky ; 
But Laura's eyes, with softness crown'd. 

Beams sweeter than those orbs on high. 
The mocking bird, delightful sings, 

In many a loud and varying lay ; 
But Laura's voice a rapture brings, 

That takes my very soul away. 
The rose, in blushing beauty blows. 

Yet cannot match my Laura'sJ^face ; 
For there a lively warmness glows, 

That shines a heart-attracting grace. 
O she's an angel in her form, 

Adorned with every waking a^^,^ . ,^ ^JJ^H 
To keep the passions alw^s warm, 

That play around a l^B's heart. 




10 



TO BESS. 

O meet me at thy window Bess, 

At midnight's silent, starry hour ; 
We'Jl take our farewell with a kiss, 

And hope, in joy, to meet once more. 
My blissful beauty of my heart, 

I fancy thee in passion true i 
And never, never can I part, 

Without another kiss from you. 
When in the dance, you deign'd to shine. 

An ornament of love to be. 
My heart I call'd no longer mine. 

For all my soul you charm'd from me. 
And should another lassie, gay, 

Attempt, by smiles, my heart to move, 
To her my burning soul would say. 

You cannot equal her I love. 
And, Bessy, would you slight a swain ? 

E'en me who dearly loves you so? 
And leave a wretched youth in pain. 

Who'd surely die for thee also 1 
Oh no ! you are too sweet a belle, 

To condescend to so much guile ? 
Indeed, I think you love too well. 

To slight your dear, the shortest while. 



PARTING FROM MARY. 




lot stay, — 
To distant lands I rS^' must flee ;- 
Remember me when far away. 

And know that I will sigh for thee. 

\ 



SOMMARS all's POEMS. 11 

Long shall I wear thy beauteous form, 

Within my bosom, deep, imprest ! 
For I can ne'er forget the charm. 

That plants such passion in my breast. 
Thy bitter tears, O dry up now, 

And let thy tender anguish end ; 
And know that I will weep for you. 

And will remain thy warmest friend. 
Alas ! resistance is in vain, 

Against what faithful hearts endure ; 
For nought can drive away the pain. 

That wrings the bosom to the core. 
O gloomy, gloomy, is the heart, 

That's burning deep in pangs of love 1 
I grieve to think that we must part, 

Whose souls sincerest passions move. 
I know thy love for me is true : 

I feel the same soft burning pain : 
It rends us both to say adieu, 

Perhaps to meet no more again. 
Now as is come the time, at last, 

We dreaded long enough to see, 
We should not grieve for bliss that's pass'd, 

But try in better mood to be. 
We'll hope to meet, at least, once more, 

When pleasure shall our hearts employ ; 
For you, for ever, I'll adore. 

Who art my soul's superior joy. 

TO JEN 

I'll meet thee, Jenny, all 

And tell a tale so moving, O, 
That you will own that I'm the one, 

That you are loving, O, 



12 sommarsall's poems. 

We'll meet in yonder secret glade, 

Not far from Henry Barling's, O, 
Where none shall see, I'll kiss thee, maid, 

Who is my darling, O ; 
There thee, my goddess I shall woo, 

As some sweet, blushing fairy, O ; 
And there our lips will seal a vow, 

That we will marry, O. 
Be sure to be, my beauty, there. 

For now my heart is burning, O ; 
And all in love for thee, my dear. 

Who is so charming, O. 
You must agree to be my wife. 

While sitting sweetly by me, O ; 
For I'd be wreached all my life, 

Should you deny me, O. 

MANY YEARS AGO. 

Once within a flow'ry valley. 

Many years ago. 
Dwelt a smihng dark eyed Sally, 

Many loved to woo. 
'Twas with her I liked to tarry ; — 

Much it pleas'd her too. 
When I swore that I would marry, 

Many years ago. 
To me her tender heart was given. 

Bound in passion true, 
To eateroika state of heaven, 




It would hareDeen a sweet connexion. 

For she loved me so, 
That her heart was all utlection, 

Many years ago. 



sommarsall's poems. 13 

And a more dear, entrancing beauty, 

Sure I never knew, 
Than she, who thought to love her duty, 

Many years ago. 
And a more smiling, rosy blossom, 

Never yet did blow. 
Than she who reigned within my bosonij 

Many years ago. 

NANCY. 

O I have got what long I've sought, — 

The darling of my fancy, O ; 
For it is bliss for me to kiss, 

A girl as sweet as Nancy, O. 
'Twould break her heart if we should part, 

For long she wished to choose me, O : 
In passion true she says also, 

She'd die if she should lose me, O. 
Upon her breast my head I rest. 

To please my little fairy, O : 
She says to me quite tenderly. 

You are my sweetest dearie, O. 
So well carest and warmly prest, 

By me she deems quite funny, O, 
To rapture given, she swears her heaven, 

Is with her tempting honey, O. 

BEWARE THE EYE, 

Beware the eye that's softlj^^i^mj 
For your heart may be ensi 
For tho' so innocently seemi 

With Love's lightningit's prepar'do 



i 



14: sommarsall's poems. 

And her rosy lips a-smiling, 

Is an angel charm to view ; 
But O, my lads, they are beguiling, 

And are dangerous to you. 
So shun in time the tempting creature, 

Ere your peace away is stole ; 
For O, in every lovely feature, 

Is a dart to stab the soul. 
And e'en when she is gaily singing, 

You should quick from her depart ; 
For then, with sweetest music ringing, 

She will fascinate the heart. 
Tho' angelically charming, 

Beautie's oft are cruel things ; 
And wdsdom is a timely warning, 

From Love's deep, perplexing stings. 
And what is it but idle folly. 

To pursue a faithless one 1 
^ For, soon a wretch, quite melancholy. 

You will find yourself undone. 



TO MARY. 

O Mary, Mary, do you know, 
That I am burnt v/ith love for youl 
So never, never break my heart. 
For it would kill me to depart. 
There was a star that glided by ; — 
A fatgl star for me to eye ! 

It fllBlill!.^^'^^^ ^" ^^^ ^'^y* 

And carried all my soul away. 

What woke myJieart to burning woes. 

In brightness to ray wonder rose ; — 



-\^^" 



SOMMARSALL S POEMS. 15 

A gentle, fair, engaging flower, 

A nd in my soul 1 feel its j3ower. 

The sweetest bird I ever knew, 

Is a young dove I like to view : 

If I could catch that little dove. 

My heart would ache no more with love. 

And you're the dove, the flower and star, 

That now doth reign my bosom's care, 

My Mary, I delight to v/oo, 

In hopes that you'll to me be true. 



OLIVIA. 

A TEMPTrNG beauty chains my heart, 

In melting anguish and despair: 
Alas ! loo keen I feel the smart, 

Witliin my bosom, burning there. 
It is a pain that v/ont remove. 

That holds my mind in strong control ; 
For nought can break th' effect of love. 

Whose pangs doth pierce my bleeding soul 
It is Olivia that did raise 

The storm of passion in my breast: 
I saw her gentle, angel grace. 

And then my heart could find no rest. 
'Tis every charm, her form display 'd, 

That's pictur'd in my aching mind : — 
Th' attracting softness of the maid. 

With airy actions well combin'd ! — 
I've tried, alas ! but all in vain. 

To think of my sweet one no more ; 
For love hath doom'd me to complain, 

Of her I ever must deplore. 




16 sommarsall's poems. 

WEDLOCK IN POVERTY. 

When pure reflection turns my eje, 

Where cruel wedlock's found to reign, 
And scenes of poverty arise, 

There's nothing there but tort'ring pain. 
And gazing there, so keenly wise. 

Where every thing looks mean and dreary, 
My bosom, sagely, then replies, 

A poor man is a fool to marry. 
And when I look about and see. 

Thai wedlock's miseries arc common, 
I think how sad a dunce I'd be, 

To give my freedom to a woman. 
And as I know we cannot find, 

Much comfort lab'ring for a deary, 
There is an idea in my mind, 

That poor men never ought to marry. 
So if 'tis bliss you think you seek. 

By choosing you a handsome wife, 
You'll find it is a course you take, 

To fix a burden on your life. 



JANE. 

In Jane, with charms that strongly bind, 

Behold the dagger of my heart ; — 
A beauty of an airy kind. 

Who hnth deceived me by her art. 
In vain my cajjiured soul may strive, 

To hide the passion that 1 bear: 
A gloominess hath marked my life. 

With anguish for a faithless dear. 




17 



^Twas once I was a favoured swain, 

When Jenny did her love display ; 
But now I die in burning pain, 

For every hope is tore away. 
Deep is the love that stings my heart, 

That I, for thee, sweet Jenny, bear ; 
To me the star of life thou wert. 

When love did much my bosom cheer. 
You know the times that we have spent. 

Ere parting swept my joy away ; 
And left me, sorely, to lament 

The wreck of pleasure's swift decay. 
Say, what can cure the raging pain, — 

Consuming passion of my breast ! 
That now, my melted bosom stain. 

With pangs that will not let me rest"? 
Alas ! 'tis no one else but thee. 

Who's charmed away my soul in love, 
And blooms a cherub, dear to me. 

That can my wretchedness remove. 

MY LITTLE SMILING CHARMER. 

A WOMAN is a creature strange ! — ■ 
Their idle fancies ever change. 
That now, so sweetly, doth derange 

My little smiling charmer. 
With me, in manners striking free, 
Say — do you try to flatter me, 
Or are you really lovingly, 

My little smiling charmerl 
Tell me the time when last you 
Our lively, prattling, giggling Shaw ! — 
A queer and monkey- jEigur'd beau 

My little smiling charmer. 



I 



law ! — T»m 

1 



it 



So deep in love he seems also, 
He only does what others do ! 
And that is sometimes kissing you, 

My little smiling charmer. 
My queen who reigns within my heart. 
Have you no other dear sweetheart, 
You'd be decluding by yom- art, 

My little smiling charmer? 
I will not call you a coquette ! 
On me I think your heart is set ; 
Yet you may have another mate. 

My little smiling charmer. 
A better friend I never knew ! 
'Tis you I constant come to woo ; 
And live upon your money too, 

My little smiling charmer. 
And very true to thee I seem. 
To show to thee a tender flame ; 
But may not others do the same. 

My little smiling charmer 1 
You smile an angel to the sight ; — ■ 
A beauty, blooming matchless bright I 
Am I, my love, your pure delight. 

My little smiling charmer? 
Would you not think it veiy hard, 
To be deserted by the bard, 
Who seems to bear you much regard. 

My httle smihng charmer 1 
You say, with me you wish to live. 
Your hand and all to me you'd give. 
But may not such sweet words deceive. 

My little smiling charmer? 
You may remember well the day. 
When first I savv yon at the play ! 
'Twas then you stole my heart away. 
My little smiling charmer 1 




sommarsall's poems. 19 

And ever since, so sweet to tell, 
I've loved thee ladj, firmly, well ! 
In pure affection I excell. 

My little smiling charmer. 
My very handsome, rosy fair, 
Whose voice is music to my ear. 
You are a loving thing, quite queer, 

My little smiling charmer. 



THE WANDERING SHREW. 

What shall the poor neighbors, what shall the poor 
neighbors. 

With such a wild bother as Lilian do 1 
We'll turn her afloat on the town as a fool. 

And we'll style her the wandering Shrew. 
Too often already, too often already. 

She hath proved a sad pest to us all : 
Her voice is like thunder that rambles the sky, 

And soon we may hear a loud squall. 
Her tongue is like lightning, her tongue is like light- 
ning. 

That levels a lie on her foes ; 
And take warning my friends, and take warning my 
friends. 

To escape from the storm of her blows. 
She giggles a while, and she quarrels a while. 

And she changes about as the most of us do ; 
And, at last, she is wishing some man for to marry ; 

Hurra for the day when I met with a Shrew !^ 
As 'tis a great pity, as 'tis a great 

For her to be tormented so, 
We will search up a fool, that will but a trifle, 

To give to the lust of the Shrew. 




20 SOMMARSALI^'S POEMS* 

Her tongue is a loud one, her tongue is a loud one^ 
That prattles whatever we're doing; 

So shun her, my boys, or the creature'll accomplishs, 
By tattling, your character's ruin^ 

THE COQUETTISH BEAUTY. 

Once bloomed an angel smiling on a youths 

In all the lustre of bright beauty formed ; — 

One of those tender looking things, that shine 

The glowing transport of a young man's heartj. 

When love's not flattered by deceiving looks.. 

His passion kindled at the sight of her, 

"Who beamed the yeiy gem of loveliness ; 

A speaking charm of rapture to the soul. 

That now is chained in flaming love too true. 

Ever again from him to fade away. 

So in warm anguish he nmv constant burns,. 

For she is but a light and changing thing ; 

A butterfly that lights on any flower, 

A flirting spark among her num'rous beau, 

That, out of many, will select not one. 

She beamed the diamond of all I saw, 

Both in beauty and her flatt'ring ways, 

With language, graced in fondness, to deceive ? 

For in sweet motions of soft emptiness. 

She shone the star of vain, unreal things. 

She wore a tender sweetness in her face, 

A smiling charm he never dreaded yet. 

That did, too much, in warm affection seeray 

To cause the thrilling pulse of fear to rise 

Within a soul devoted, deep, to her. 

Now she hath winged a dagger to his heart. 

And clouded up, in darkest gloom,^ his mind ? 



•^ 



sommarsall's poems. 21 

For now, to her, he is a hateful one, 

For she hath trampled on his faithful love, 

And looks upon him as a thing to scorn. 

She gUdes about a deep affecting thing, 

That reigns the ruhng passion of the soul, 

Now feathered off with trifling thoughts that rise 

The rainbow fancies of her giddy brain ; — 

Too light and windj ever to be firm. 

Whoever wins her, gains a shallow mate, 

To reign the torment of his wedded hfe. 

And rouse him from his sweet delusiveness, 

To curse his sad unchanging, squally state. 

That must, forever, run in wretchedness. 

How winning and how empty are the smiles 

Of lovely woman that around us beam ! 

Bright, blooming angels, of the am'rous soul, 

O'er which they reign with a tyrannic sway, 

Hegardless of the burning pangs they cause. 

Ta the strong feeling of an anxous breast, 

That wore the gloomy burning of despair, 

He pined, quite wretchedly, upon the earth, 

Till, in the silence of an early grave, 

Was hurried all his honest love and woe. 

Vnd there, unnoticed, let him ever rest ; 
For it is better than the empty joys. 
That play around us in this wand'ring world, 
To be consigned to that oblivion deep, 

riiat seals us in the senselessness of death. 



TO A LADY ALARMED AT A SNAKE. 

Why should a serpent much alarm my dear? 
There's one that is more dangerous to fear !-— 
The one a flaming dagger to tlie soul, 
That none but her I love can evev contmL 



2^ sommarsall's poems. 

Love is a pang that nothing can assuage ! 

It melts the soul into a burning rage ! 

And deeply planted, it will there remain, 

And bear the fruit of purest joj or worst of pain. 

The sunshine or the cloud it will display, 

To light the dreams of hope, or dim its brightest ray. 

There is a heavy anguish in my heart ! — 

A dart of passion that will ne'er depart : 

My spirit melts beneath the sting of love ; 

Too deeply rooted ever to remove ! 

But mocks with visions every hour of rest, 

Soon leaving me, a lover, yet unblest ; 

For dreams are but creations of the brain. 

No real cure for one oppress'd with bm-ning pain. 

Why do we love's a question none can answer well, 

As few will shun the pang we never can expel. 

Man is a being on a world of strife. 

Who can't escape the various storms of life. 

That banish hope, when they, our minds assail, 

For expectations almost always fail. 

For me, no rainbow smiling, I can see. 

To light the slightest ray of peace to me ; 

For all is gloomy in my melted soul. 

That you, dear one ! in cruelty control. 

In quite a melancholy, lasting way, [sway. 

That proves the warmth of love and power of woman's 



THE PERIODS OF LIFE. 

There is a blooming period of our life : 
'Tis when we are in our early childhood, 
A sporting in the pure sunshine of joy. 
# And there is, now, a youth, whose many changes 
Thro' his life, I^aiiwell remember still. 



.^aiiweii rem€ 



sommarsall's poems. 23 

It might be quite enough for me to say, 

'Twas swift and gaily pass'd his childhood off, 

In all the pure innocence of rapture ; 

But is it not a pleasure to recall, 

Some little traces of those vanished years. 

When his young, tender soul was not yet stained. 

With bitter curses of his after life ? 

There bloomed a playmate of his tender years, 

That proved a star of transport to his soul,— 

The dearest object of the earth to him. 

Her looks were fair and lovely as a rose, 

When it blusheth in its richest lustre : 

And 'twas for her, his bosom was inflamed. 

With true affection of the warmest kind, 

That met with passion just the same from her. 

She was to him the sunshine of his heart ; — 

The brilliant causer of his soul's delight ! 

Nor did he seem anything less to her ! 

They were, even as one, then linked together, 

In warm affection of sincerest tove. 

There was no joy or anguish felt by one, 

That was not felt the same by the other: 

They grew together and both were admired ; 

She, for her engaging, bashful sweetness. 

And he, for his amusing gaiety, 

Which render'd them, to all, quite endearing. 

She was the soft companion of his walks. 

For, without her, there was no bliss for him. 

She shone the lamp of pleasure to his soul. 

Whose sweet presence chas'd away its darkness. 

Where, without her, 'twould be melancholy. 

She was all to him that life could desire ; — 

Am'rous love, and friendship, and everyti^klg 

To him, that rendered life a blessing ;— 

That young ^ngel who reigne4^Jfljy|i^^ssions. 




24 sommarsall's poems. 

* 

There was another period of his hfe : 

He changed a wretched, melancholy youth ; 

The only thing he took a pleasure in, 

Was then departed, far away, from him. 

She left him then in agony, not in 

The deepest power of language to be told* 

And pale, and much dejected he was seen, 

Retiring oft alone from public view. 

As if to hide the anguish of his soul; 

For of his burning love, he told to none. 

That raged a gloomy ^aching in his heart, 

That showed itself, a sting, too visible. 

In the quick change of his disposition ; 

Which then,too plainly showed the mark of something, 

Tliat shook the deepest impulse of his breast. 

The pleasant groves and meadows where they walked 

Were still in nature's lively splendor dress'd ; 

But what was all that loveliness to him ? 

For the charm of the place was there no more, 

And lie was left tormented and undone ; 

And every object, there he saw, renew'd 

The thoughts of pleasure, never found again. 

And night was to him a dreamy mockery. 

Presenting her bright image to his view, 

In all its former softness smiling, but 

That was not reality : for every 

Morning when the youth arose, did wake him 

Then, to the deep agony of his love. 

Mcltingly alone, where they had rambled. 

He poured out the bitterness of his soul ; 

And with his pencil he then tried to paint, 

The color of his too flaming anguish ; 

Then agitated, from his task he rose, 

And wept in thrilling woe the heart must feel. 

But what mere human words cannot reveal. 



25 



And now the sorrow of those days are gone, 

Tho' 'twas many tears we shed at parting, 

Which were the essence of sincerity, 

Of burning passion cherish'd in his youth, 

For ever in his bosom to remain, 

An unfading remembrance of his love. 

There was another period of his hfe ; 

The youth became a wanderer from his home, 

For 'twas there he was a being friendless ; 

And in the bitter madness of his soul, 

He plunged himself in disipation, deep. 

Where he, himself, with wine, would then display 

In empty wittiness, where he was deemed 

An idol of love, noisy company. 

And 'twas many then that seemed to love him ; 

But they were flatterers of each festive hour ; 

And yet the youth could never find out ; 

For flatt'ry spreads a blindness o'er the mind, 

That true experience only drives away, 

And dissipation wears the garb of joy. 

While building up a mount of misery. 

The youth had many loves, and they were fair. 

But not, to him, like her, who sweetly bloomed^ 

The rosy glory of his happier days. 

At times his conscience acted as a sting. 

But it he learn'd to banish in the bowl : 

For in a life like his, there bloomed no joy, 

Without the moral soul, was forced to sink 

Beneath the reach of contemplative thought. 

This was the dark time of his existence. 

That was not bliss, but mere delusiveness, 

That cheats th' unthinking soul of solid joy. 

For always proving something vain, it soon, 

Like every other charm, began to cloy, 

And, at last, it faded into sorrow, ^>^ 




26 sommarsall's poems. 

That proved, to him, the very deepest kind ; 

For what were all handsome loves to him, 

But such as were deceiving to his flame? — 

Mere empty trifles of his youthful days. 

That would pretend to any thing like love. 

While in that passion flatt'ring and untrue. 

My disposition is a burning fire. 

Of independence, springing from my soul, 

That's quite indifferent to the rage of fools, 

Whose empty railing I cannot regard. 

As anything but angry windy words. 

Too trifling to prove an injury to me. 

So [ have lived, and so my days hath pass'd. 

In calm indif'rence of such medling fools, 

That are to me abominable things. 

Deceitful foes too worthless to regard. 

There was another period of his life : 

And it displayed a scene of bitterness : 

He was upon the world a hated youth, 

And proved a mock'ry to those he might respect 

But yet, them, he could not love, and why 1 

Because their cruel treatment, they displayed 

To him, they thought quite destitute of friends, 

Then did urge his soul to hatred, such as 

Is not, nor ever can again be quell'd : 

And 'twas then the cloud of melancholy, 

That overwhelm'd his faculties of mind. 

Did prove the deep origin of burning thoughts, 

Dark, mad and corrosive in their nature. 

He was quite despicable to his kin ; 

But what was then in him for fools to love ] 

For he had nothing of the world's desire : 

His misfortunes had brought him pennjless : 

And to foe*, it was a lucky chance, to 

Spread i4ieir ridicule of him, to bias 



I 



sommarsall's poems. 27 

Others, like themselves, him to disdain. 

But this, tho' too severe, had one good course ! — 

It helped to make him wise ! — by it, he saw 

What manj years had showed him not before ! 

It was as a secret to the simple ! 

He found that friendship searcheth after gain ; 

And when a character is in the power. 

Of faithless, tattling fools bereft of honour, 

None bear a more abominable name. 

And this was something of the world to learn, 

That made him, of man, almost a hater : 

But tho' it proved a picture, but of a 

Little while, it was enough to teach him 

He was friendless, and like a stranger, home 

Among relations, only so in name. 

But this pass'd over as a gloomy cloud, 

A transient blackness of a summer sky, 

That v^^ore away a dark and heavy woe; — 

My once misfortunes of my hated life, 

And left all fair and beautiful again. 

TO OLIVIA. 

My soul still melts in burning flame, 

A love for thee that's wholly pure ! 
But roused up from an idle dream. 

Must now thy faithlessness deplore. 
I fancied once, you loved me well, 

So sweetly kind you'd always smile, 
Oft telling me some am'rous tale, 

That proved but actions to beguile. 
I deemed 'twas passion that revealed, 

Your bosom's secret tender joy ; 
Nor thought thai love a sting concealed, 

My idle transport to destroy. 



■^j^ 




^Sli 



28 SOMMARS all's POEMS. 

A woman's love is like the wind, 

It comes somtimes and dies away, 
And then consigns a lover's mind, 

The purest sorrow to betray. 
The fragrant flower that bloomed at morn, 

Is blasted by the noon-day sun ; 
So, burnt by love, I grieve forlorn. 

By thee deserted and undone. 
Quite heavy is the pangs I bear, 

I love a maid I cannot flee ; — 
Now doomed by fate to hold one dear, 

That will not show regard for me. 
O wring my soul no more with love, 

For in that passion I'm unblest, 
That doth, in bitter madness, prove 

A constant torment to my breast. 
Long hath Olivia shook my heart, 

Well knowing of -her painful sway : 
With actions of the warmest art. 

She shines a thing uncommon gay. 
Alas ! my muse must fail to paint, 

The raging anguish that I bear ; — 
A deep, incurable complaint. 

And curse on such as are sincere. 



SCENE AFTER A STORM. 

What splendor, artless, blazed upon my eyes, 
When nature swept her horrors from the skies 1 
The landscape smiled in grandeur, quite serene, 
And naught disturbed the lovely, tranquil scene, 
Save notes that did in softest music roll, 
That inuch enriched the sweetness of the whole. 




29 



The gentle zephyr breathed on blossoms, gay, 

And nature's freshness showed them in a rich array: 

Thus pictured in sudden splendor, bright, 

The landscape glowed a heaven of beauty to the sight. 

'Twas then, alas, a melancholy boy. 

Whose breast, the bitter cares of earth annoy, 

I wandered out in thoughtfulness and pain, 

To meditate the wretchedness of man. ^ 

The scene, I thought, display'd the change of some, 

Who, through their God, doth meet a happy home, 

When from the storms of life, they die away. 

To matchless glories of a brighter day. 



THE PEERLESS MAID. 

I SAW a matchless crimson rose. 

The pride of nature's finest part ; 
Then, struck by love, a thought arose, 

To clasp the fancy of my heart. 
Her countenance, quite sweetly gay, 

Was formed to beauty's softest smile ; 
And tenderness, she did display. 

Then corresponded to beguile. 
I found my handsome goddess such. 

As slights a swain she doth control ; 
Yet is my heart a-bleeding mucti, 

For that dear angel of my soul. 
And oh ! to me, how killing 'tis, 

To lose the maid I most desire ! — 
The one that's made my passions rise, 

Yet will not quell their raging fii*e. 
Return to me, in love, my fair, 

To cure the aching of my breast : 

3^ 



30 SOM MARS all's POEMS. 

Without some favour now, sweet star 

I cannot, cannot think of rest. 
Too lasting is my stinging woe, 

For, lady, I can find no peace. 
Without some soft regard you show. 

My gloomy anguish for to ease. 
Tho' o'er my wretched heart you reign. 

If with affection you will rule. 
You soon will see corrosive pain. 

All vanished from my loving souL 
And who can then, my dear, express, 

The burning transport I would feel ; 
For then the joys of amorousness. 

Will prove what words cannot reveal. 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

When'er thou read'st these lines of mine. 

Remember him who placed them here. 
For thee to see his warm design, 

Of soft regard, that burns sincere. 
At last, when you may hear of him, 

Compeird a hated wretch to roam. 
Perhaps, from thee, ray muse will claim, 

A tear of pity for my doom. 
You know the i^lture of my soul. 

Is hatred to the scornful crowd ; 
Yet you with sweetness can control, 

A heart too stubborn to be bowed. 
He is the wisest man, I'm sure. 

Who 'gainst misfortune sets his heart, 
Beyond adversity to soar, 

Not yielding to its cruel dart. 



sommarsall's poems. 31 

ON HEARING ONE BOASTING OF FRIENDS. 

O NAME not to me of the clays that are pass'd, 

When my liouis were fleeting on pinions of joy, 
That hath faded away with my childhood, at last, 

To the sadness that now doth my bosom annoy. 
They have taught me, alas ! that warm friendship 
will end. 

When the sunshine prosperity shows us is o'er : 
So tell me no more that you have a true friend, — 

When adversity comes, he'll be faithful no more. 
You speak of your friends, but believe me, they're 
vain, 

They change as the wind that is blowing around: 
'Tis you they will treat with the strongest disdain, 

When misfortunes shall bring your prosperity down. 

TO JANE LOOKING AT A PICTURE. 

Come here, my Jane, and view with me, 

A gentle, blushing maid caress'd ; 
And think, dear girl ! that you can be. 

By me, you love, as warmly press'd. 
Look how she hangs around his waist ! — 

How closely, love, they cling together ! 
As we, when joining to be blest, 

Are lost in rapture of each other. 
Look how she's smiling in his face. 

With am'rous fondness in her eyes ! 
And think if any other grace. 

Can more delightfully entice ! 
Suppose, sweet girl, we do the same ! 

And if you yield to my endeavour, 
I'll join our lips, in love, like them. 

To cling in tenderness for ever, 



32 sommarsall's poems. 

So let us try a love-like way. 

As these before our eyes is plac'd ; 
So round thy neck my arms I'll lay, 

And press thee sweetly to my breast. 
Thou art my life and transport, dear ! 

There's nothing else more sweet to me \ 
For, by my soul, my rosy fair, 

I'd die if once deprived of thee ! 
Just think what pleasure would be thine, 

If we were joined no more to sever ; 
So I will bring thy lips to mine, 

And kiss, and kiss, my girl, for ever, 

THO' I FROM THEE MUST NOW DEPART. 

Tho' I, from thee, must now depart. 

An unregarded wretch to rove, 
Yet still within my faithful heart. 

You'll live the object of my love. 
Impress'd upon my flaming breast. 

Unfading in your sweetness there, 
You'll ever smile a heavenly guest, 

To wing my soul thro' loads of care. 
Each friend hath proved a faithless one. 

Who,, in misfortune's stormy hour. 
Have left me all alone, undone, 

The bitt'rest anguish to endure. 
I've learned mankind is not to trust, 

Whose minds in low deceit is laid j — 
Who is a being that's the worst, 

That doth the face of earth invade. 
Reject not him whose warm design. 

Is love sincere to make with thee ;. 
Tho' many sland'rous tongues may join. 

To turn thy heart away from me. 



sommarsall's poems. 33 

But know that he's a faithless youth, 

That tries to crus>h an injured name ; 
For unconfined are they to truth, 

Who only search for deeds to blame. 
'Tis hardly half the news we hear, 

That's such on which we can rely ; 
For tho' they may like fact appear, 

They're varnished off with many a lie. 
And he who's friendless in the land, 

Can hope for nothing but the worst ; 
For every fool will strive to brand. 

The name of him already curst, 

THE EXILES RETURN. 

Once came a poor traveller all sorrowful and weary ! 

And, "at last I've arrived on the wave beaten shore, 
"Where onced fondly I roved with my beautiful Mary, 

An innocent companion I'll never see more. 
Tell me not of the pleasures that others enjoy, 

While I am a grieving for her I love best ; — 
The beauty that did all my affections employ ; — 

The charmer that hath reigned the sweet queen of 
my breast. 
She smiled the bright star of this life to my bosoai, 

That lighted with transport my earliest days ; 
But now she is gone ; — an all loving young lassie ! — 

And left me a sad pilgrim in life's giddy maze. 
O whither, O whither, O now shall I roam ? — 

A stranger, a wretch that 's all ready undone ! 
And where is the friend that will welcome me home 

In the land of my fathers 1 alas ! I have none. 
And where is the dear damsel who wandered so oft, 

O'er the land where my youthful affections were 
blest .?— 



34 sommarsall's poems. 

My dearest sweet Maiy, so melting to me ! — 

The tomb-stone will tell me the place of her rest. 
O, why do I here of my darling deplore 1 

'Twere better to roam on the dangerous main, 
Than come to this land, my warm anguish to pour. 

Of the lassie who never will hear me complain. 
Come join me to weep of an only true friend, 

Ye that feel the deep sadness that love can impart : 
Come ye that have felt, and some course recommend, 

To destroy the mad serpent that's wounded my 
heart." 



NOW THINK UPON THE MOONLIGHT. 

Now think upon the moonlight, dear, 

When you and I would often meet ; 
When every word, so kind, to hear. 

Would rise in transportation, sweet. 
Remember, girl, the many days. 

When we in early youth would rove ; 
Joined hand in hand in tenderness. 

Our hearts completely bound in love. 
O why hath pleasure fled away 1 — 

Those days of sunshine, purely sweet 1 — 
To sorrow left our souls a prey, — 

No more our former joys to meet? 
Tho' thoughts of thee from me depart, 

When ushered in the noisy crowd, 
Thy image stamp'd upon my heart, 

Displays itself in solitude. 
When first I saw thy winning face, 

I deemed you were an angel, fair ; 
And Where's the swain who would not praise 

Th' enchanting brightness of thy air? 



35 



And yet you are as gaily smiling, 

As when I felt the burning thrill ; 
In thy sweet looks, so deeply charming. 

That I am bound to love thee still. 
You are goddess so divine, 

With such a sweet, soul warming face, 
Where kindest looks of passion shine, 

That blush in so much loveliness. 
I must unceasingly admire, 

That lovely and angelic air, 
That's kindled in my heart desire ; 

A flame to live for ever there. 
And if we part to meet no more, 

When scornful fools thyself may slight, 
Remember I v/ill then adore, 

My melting beauty and delight. 

THE LOVING WIDOW. 

Young am'rous widows too there is, 

And one is weeping Jenny, O ; 
For lost to every spark of bliss. 

She's dying for young Jemmy, O. 
She's seen upon the sea shore oft 

In wretchedness bewailing, O ; — 
The deepest pangs of passion soft. 

Incurably prevailing, O. 
Her wealthy friends, they wonder what 

The sickness is that ails her so ! 
The warm disease of love she's caught. 

And from a handsome sailor, O. 
Ye cruel parents, do not try 

To break the flame that moves her so ; 
For I will swear j^our child would die, 

Deprived of him who loves her, O, 



36 SOMMARS all's POEMS. 

TO HER WHO THOUGHT ME SAD. 

You wonder why I am so dull, 

And think that I should cheerful be ; 
But joy no longer rules my soul, 

For nothing is dehght to me. 
No longer, Mary, I adore 

Thy charms that's bright to gaze upon ; 
For tired of life, I seek no more, 

What has to me so trifling grown. 
*Tis me, who's hved in pleasure, long. 

That now a gloominess doth rule ; 
For Fate hath marked me out, as one. 

To live on earth a wretched soid. 
Let me a while, soft beauty, rest. 

Nor me again in transport press : 
'Tis solitude becomes me best. 

For nothing can renew my bliss. 
What I have many days enjoyed, 

I leave for other lovers now : 
I will not have my mind employed 

To form anew a broken vow. 
But let thyself be happy still ; 

I'd not disturb that heart of thine, 
To tell a pang, you cannot heal. 

That wrings this wretched soul of mine. 

THE WEEPING ADELINE. 

Alone on the mountains fair Adeline strayed, 
When she wept for her William the star of her soul ! 

And thus in soft anguish her bosom displayed, 
The melting eftect of Love's tender control. 

*' O where is the youth I so tenderly loved. 
Who once in these arms I so warmly carest ? 



sommarsall's poems. 37 

Alas ! the warm pleasures of passion hath proved 

In a change, a mad torturing pang to my breast.'* 
Quite sad was the angel who once took delight, 

In a young man wlio only pretended to love ! 
Her joyfulness fled as a dream of llie night. 

And left her, a mourner, o'er mountains to rove, 
*Twas there in the bitterest pains of despair, 

She fancied what fled as a vapor away ! 
'Twas the transport enjoyed with her William so dear 

That faded in sorrow too deep to display. 
The moon that reigns sweetly serene o'er the night, 

Hath witness'd the pangs that the damsel endured. 
When she wept for the youth who was once her de- 
light. 

Who kindled the love that could never be cured. 
The bright star of the mountains is now swept away; 

Her rays of sweet beauty forever is gone ! 
The rose that hath bloomed quite surpassingly gay, 

Who pined a bright damsel, completely undone. 



THE JEWESS. 

I press'd a Jewess, young and fair. 

Who bloomed the pink of loveliness : 
She said no words, but showed an air. 

That beamed in deepest tenderness. 
'Twas when I said how much I hated. 

To see the coldness that she wore, 
She seemed quite willing to be mated, 

To me she soon did much adore. 
I spoke so true and warm to her, 

I brought her mind to deep reflection 
She sighed, my thrilling words to hear, 

For love is stronger than religion, 



^ sommarsall's poems. 

I laid my arm around her waist, 

And no resistance would she make ; 
So then' her lips, to mine I press'd, 

The warmest kisses for to take. 
I saw the sign of love arise, 

That, sweetest bhishes, would display, 
Just like the redness of the skies, 

About the dawning of the day. 
Then sweetly did slie smile on me. 

When both together deeply felt. 
Love's purest, thrilling ecstacy. 

That did our flaming bosoms melt. 
Her eyes, then lighted up with love, 

Did fondly beam delight in mine. 
Like stars, with brilliant rays above, 

Uniting then like things divine. 



LOVE TOO TRUE. 

I SING a deep, heart-rending tale, 
My gloomy fate I now bewail. 
For all my hopes is blasted now ; 
And I must bear the heavy blow. 
And 'tis because my love's too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
Such agony is in my breast, 
I am a wretch deprived of rest, 
By pangs that in my bosom stay, 
I try in vain to shake away ; 
And all's because my love's too true. 
That is my lot to bear for you. 
I wander 'bout as one perplext, 
Or like a widow'd bird distrest, 



SOMMARSALL S POEMS. 39 

In solitary mood undone, 
For every joy in life is gone ; 
And all's because my love's too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
And tho' my pain you will not heal, 
The time may come for you to feel, 
Some secret sting, thy heart to waken, 
To know the worth of him forsaken, 
Who's tortur'd now in love too true 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
Yet thee I do not wholly blame, 
Tho' you have triffled with my flame, 
But one that's basely meddled there. 
And ruin'd every promise fair ; 
And overwhelm'd my soul in woe. 
Now doom'd to bleed in love for you. 
The poorest wretch some friend may find, 
To soothe the sorrows of his mind ; 
But I have no such solace here ; 
My time is spent in gloomy care, 
Because my love hath prov'd too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
And I have sought another dear, 
To calm the bitter woes I bear ; 
But she hath prov'd a somthing vain, 
To heal the wounds that yet remain ; 
And 'tis because my love's too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
As there's no rest at home for me, 
I'll seek a land across the sea. 
To try to lose the painful dart. 
That lies within my bleeding heart ; 
For now my love hath prov'd too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 



40 



And if, again, of me you hear, 
In hopeless dissipation there, 
The worst of ruin'd wretches grown, 
Remember all is madly done, 
To cure my love that burns too true. 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
And some, perhaps, may wish to know, 
The darling one who caus'd my woe ; 
But who she is I will not tell, 
For whom, my pain I cannot quell ; 
For now I'm stung with love too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
And tho' I try to think the less. 
Of her who caused me such distress, 
By quaffing poison from the bowl, 
To drown the tumult in my soul, 
My fatal love, e'en then's too true 
For me to lose regard for you. 
A heavy gloom upon my heart, 
I feel from that deep, piercing dart. 
No charm on earth can ever cure. 
But thee, my sweet one, I adore ; 
For 'tis my love that's prov'd too true, 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
And dearest lady, fare thee well ! 
My love is too sincere to tell ! 
But know that I will grieve for thee, 
Tho' you may never think of me. 
For now my love hath prov'd too true. 
That I am doom'd to bear for you. 
To shun thy presence now I flee. 
To distant lands beyond the sea ; 
But from that wound that will not heal, 
I must, e'en there, too deeply feel. 
My burning bosom, proving true, 
To ache in purest love for you. 



41 



TO MARY PRICE. 

Farewell to thee, gay Mary Price, 

As I am sick and sad ; 
For I must shun thy pretty face. 

As I am running mad. 
O altogether so in love, 

For thee my handsome Mary ! 
And wishing much that I could prove, 

To be thy chosen dearie. 
And Mary, if you felt like me, 

The flaming pangs I bear, 
Then how delighted I would be, 

To kiss so sweet a dear ! 
Upon the wings of fancy, oft 

My muse doth praise my dearie ; 
And melting into anguish soft, 

Doth tell how sweet is Mary. 
Fair goddess of a tender smart. 

Angelically fair, 
O heal the wounds that break my heart, 

And take an honest dear. 
Should any mortal ask me why 

I love so poor a dearie, 
I'd surely swear that I would die, 

For my sweet blooming Mary. 

MY JOYFUL DAYS OF PLEASURE. 

My joyful days of pleasure in 

Adversity now buried lies ; 
And woman — vain, deceiving thing !— 

No more allures my roving eyes. 
Quite sicken'd with the cares of life, 

No bliss on earth again I find : 

4 



42 sommarsall's poems. 

The world's a stage of endless strife, 

Bewild'ring to a thoughtful mind. 
When'er I think of what I've been, 

And I, my sorrows number o'er, 
I wish from earth's dramatic scene. 

To die away and be no more. 
Life holds a mirror to the view, 

Reflecting wretchedness I hate ; — 
A picture of unbounded wo. 

That's many a poor man's cruel fate. 
I have a heart that feels for thee, 

But now all am'rous passion's ceas'd, 
To move a wearied wretch, that's me, 

"Who lives a pilgrim quite unblest. 
'Twas beauty once that ruled my soul, 

With warmest fire of tender joy ; 
But now, o'er me, hath no control. 

So worn out with its charms am 1 1 
There is no bliss that we can find. 

But what at last, will fail to charm ; 
E'en love, that proves of sweetest kind,. 

Hath ceased my bosom now to warm. 
Love grows with me a worthless thing, 

And woman as an idle toy ; — 
A charm, I'll own, where bliss can spring. 

That, like each other joy, will cloy. 



PARTING. 

This day, alas, my love, we part; 

But yet will I remember thee ;— 
The smiling idol of my heart, — 

The dearest of the earth to me I 



sommarsall's poems. 4S 

When last we walked the moonlight night, 

I little thought a time would be, 
To tear away the deep delight, 

By separation far from thee. 
And how tormenling now it is, 

To hear that piercing word — adieu ! 
That speaks a long farevvelJ of bliss. 

That once was felt by me and you. 
When you are gone, my joy must end. 

Dear transport of ray bosom's pride ! 
For you're the only faithful friend. 

In which I ever could confide. 
Thou art to me the gem of life. 

That did my bleeding heart console ; — 
That smiled away the storms of strife, 

And spread soft rapture in my soul. 
Farewell! — our fate we must deplore, 

My dearest and entrancing one ! 
And should you see my face no more. 

Remember, Mary, I'm undone, 

LIFE AND DEATH. 

Life is a scene of trouble to myself; 

"And what do I live for" I've often asked. 

Where every joy's embitter'd with a sting. 

That lie too heavily upon my soul. 

I live a creature with a gloomy mind, 

In deep reflections of our certain fate ; 

And look, with hatred, on the acts of some, 

I see too much the fool to meditate, 

On their eternal, future destiny ; 

But with an eye of mean contempt, they look 

On each child of poverty and sorrow, 



44 sommarsall's poems. 

Who pass their lives in lusts unsatisfied, 

Which is, indeed, a wretched existence. 

Tho' smiles may sometimes light my countenance, 

A melancholy sadness rules my heart ; 

And there a pang too bitter to be told. 

Must long remain a dagger to my soul. 

That bleeds beneath the heavy weight, of dark, 

Corrosive feelings, that prove a double 

Anguish, to my bursting heart. 

Death is to blot a mortal from existence. 

To wake him to deep reality. 

Of a now darkly veiled eternity. 

Where none can e'er escape his destiny. 

Life is a light to show us many scenes. 

Which is, at last, a nothing but a dream ; — 

A passing picture, showing many colors. 

That's hastening to the dark eclipse of death. 

Where, in the gloomy bosom of the grave, 

The body melts into its kindred dust. 

Lost to the vital principle — the soul, — 

That from the dreadful overthrow is gone, 

We know not wither, as there's none can look. 

Into the deep scenes of futurity. 



THE FAITHLESS ONE. 

Come and listen to my singing ye that have a tender 
heart ; 

For the words that I am speaking is of love's tor- 
menting dart. 

It was once I loved a handsome creature better than 
my life : 

She also seemed to love me kindly, and I sought her 
for my wife. 



sommarsall's poems. 46 

But she proved a thing deceiving, as too many wo- 
men are : — 

Only sweet in gentle actions with a melting angel 
air. 

I did say, " My little Jenny, you must listen now to 
me : 

Do you really love me truly, for my heart doth ache 
for the." 

And her face then colored up with blushes of a burn- 
ing kind : — 

Sweet, in timid silence gazing then, as with a loving 
mind, 

But appearance was as nothing from a wav'ring crea- 
ture vain. 

Who did scorn, who doated on her as a being low 
and mean. 

But the tide of time is hurrying on to bring another 
change ; 

Then to sweep away her pleasures and with grief 
her mind derange. 

There is a virgin bound to ruin, with none to check 
her mind ; 

JBut many a foolish one to lead her on, and keep her 
ideas blind. 

She is indeed a blooming flower, bright as any yet 
Fve seen ; — 

Lovely as a smiling angel, with a countenance divine. 

.She has bright cheeks like skies a-glowing when the 
day begins to fade ; 

And lips of purest, sweetest red, to set her ofl* a hand- 
some maid. 

And Jane, a man may come to see thee with a soul 
less proud than mine. 

Then speaking flatt'ring am'rousness to win that 
heart of thine ; 



46 SOMMARSALL*S POEMS. 

And to his words then you will listen, as you did one 

to me, 
With a heart-delighted eagerness that he will like to 

see. 
But then, how vain and how deceiving, it all at last 

may prove ! 
For hearts, that's prone to be believing, may be mis- 
taken with true love. 
Oft have my eyes, with transport, hung on every 

smile of thine ; 
But fled is all the joy, away, and broken, this heart 

of mine. 
Tho' light a human mind may be, a time is hurrying 

on. 
To bring the soul in bitterness and make a scornful 

thing undone. 
I can see her sorrows rising, growing nearer every 

day. 
Like a dismal cloud, a-coming on, to sweep her joys 

away. 
Once she seemed to love me dearly, but she proved 

a thing untrue : 
Her hopes is on a higher chance that time may van* 

ish from her view. 
Oblivion's colors never change that's always black as 

night : 
They brand the heart with burning anguish, no more 

to see delight. 
She shall have her fill of it, for the time will surely 

come, 
■ When her joys will be all blasted in overwhelming 

gloom. 
I can see a mother weeping o'er a daughter's wretched 

lot. 
Wedded to a snarling clown, and perhaps a drunken 

sot. 



SOMMARSALL*S POEMS. 47 

I can hear the children crying, and the husband 

loudly swear, 
And the raging wife's reproaches utter'd wildly in 

despair. 
What a scene is this I see ? ignorance, and sloth, 

and pain, 
Carry on the cruelty, that's ruined joy, she never 

can regain. 
Woman, you are made of fancies rising from a 

slender mind ;— 
Sweet delusions, strangely gay, and always of a 

fickle kind. 
Come ye swains and join to sing of her that I would 

love no more; 
Whose favours was a fleeting dream, acted with de- 
ceptive power. 
Mine may be language of a kind, when she hears, to 

give her pain ; 
For the naked tnith, when told, is something bitter 

to explain. 
Then let her read and understand, 'tis from him she 

chose to slight. 
All these gloomy words arise, — -a being hateful in 

her sight, 
I would tell the agony that's darkly color'd in my 

breast. 
But my pen would surely fail on that too deep to be 

exprest. 
Once to me she was a beauty, mild and gentle as a 

dove. 
When my soul was much delighted with her that 

did seem to love. 
'Twas then she smiled on me so kindly, I could not 

think she'd hate ; 



48 sommarsall's poems. 

But the heart is often cheated when in a deep, en- 
trancing state. 
Then, perhaps, it was my mean appearance made 

her shght me so : 
That is no excuse for love, that bends to things 

that's still more low. 
In time my love may change to hatred, when I would 

not wedded be : 
My flame is only scornful madness from one now 

aiming to be free. 
To him who loved her tender, she is but emptiness 

and pride : 
I would not have so slight a thing, ever, to become 

my bride. 
And she may throw her railery against the being she 

doth scorn. 
Reclining in my rival's arms, and laughing at a swain 

forlorn. 
So, take my rival in thy arms, and him to thy 

bosom press ; 
Also make him tremble with delight from love's 

most burning kiss. 
What is it that I have said? — my mind hath surely 

gone astray : 
I would rather see thee dead and buried deeply in 

the clay. 
I would rather see a dagger planted in thy cursed 

heart, — 
Thy crimson blood a-rolling — so in thy death I took 

no part. 
And do not deem me cruel 'cause true love hath 

stained my soul with madness : 
It mg^kps us utter angry things that rises from a 

mind qf sadness. 



so MM AR ball's POEMS. 49 

O how wild the words are coming from a faithful 

heart in grief! 
They flow at random from a soul that is fix'd beyond 

relief. 
Methinks I see her living, as perhaps 'twill be in 

time, 
A complete heart-broken, sighing creature, ruined 

in her prime. 
Years of sorrow, gliding by, will steal her beauty 

all away, 
Long before she's counted old, for woman's charms 

can soon decay. 
Then her mind, in language true, will paint up every 

youthful scene ; 
Think, when in thy better days, how very scornful 

you have been ; 
When a gentle swain did woo you with a deeply 

loving heart. 
Who you thought fit to ruin then, by acting with 

coquettish art. 

THE WRETCHED RELIEVED. 

There's few to pity one in woe. 

Who's treated much with haughty scorn. 
And left without a friend below. 

In deep adversity to mourn. 
There's something yet that cheers my heart, 

Tho' much forsaken now I be ! — 
Tho' pierced by sad misfortune's dart, 

There's one I know will weep for me. 
The angel's name I shall not tell, 

That doth with love my bosom rule ; 
And shines a bright, unequall'd belle, 

That's lit with joy my gloomy soul. 



50 



She's proved a long and steady friend, 

The only cheering liope I've got, 
Whose soul with mine, in love, is joined, 

That's eased my melancholy lot. 
Tho' I'm a sad, deserted man. 

For me no one will shed a tear. 
Blither who feels an inward pain. 

Of warmest anguish for her dear. 
Quite dark my course of life hath heen; 

Abandoned by my friends I prove ; 
And v/hcn death closes up the scene, 

'Twill end a life of faithful love. 
Tho' Man's a being' much, I hate, 

A woman is my greatest joy ; 
And when I meet my dying fate, 

To her will be my latest sigh. 
When I was left to wretchedness. 

By faithless friends I did revere, 
She soothed my soul to purest bliss. 

By tenderness that proved sincere. 
She did my clouds of wo remove ; — 

Those heavy, inward shades of night ! 
And with the cheering beams of love, 

My sighing bosom did delight. 

ROBIN GRAY. 

My briglitest days are all gone by. 

And I am quite undone ; 
And never more can hope for joy. 

Because my Bob is gone. 
I heard the beating of the drum, 

That struck me to the heart : 
I knew the dismal hour was come^ 

When he was to depart.. 



sommarsall's poems. 51 

And none can feel for thee like me, 

While thou art far away ; 
For who will have regard for thee, 

As I, my Robin Gray ? 
My parents too, as wealthy are, 

As very few we see : 
*Tis many, many pounds a year, 

Their income proves to be. 
They scorn my love because he's poor, 

And scold me day and night ; 
But could they feel what I endure. 

They'd not their daughter slight. 
For who else can I think upon, 

Like him I love the best ? — 
My Robin Gray, my dearest one. 

Who rules my aching breast ? 
I gave to him a ring of gold, 

And ringlet of my hair : 
He said he would the prizes hold, 

In 'membrance of his dear. 
For so sweetly and so kindly, 

He tenderly did prove ; 
And swore that he, to me, would be, 

For ever true in love. 
So don't increase your daughter's pain, 

For grieving much is she ; " 
And if sweet Robin comes again, 

He then must marry me. 



THE END 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




